The Academy
by In His Power
Summary: She signed the contracts. She knew what the program would involve. Everyone on the scene knew about the Academy, where students were trained in the art of submission. So why did I sense Isabella wasn't here completely by choice? A/H, E/B, BDSM.
1. Reception

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**The Academy**

All four of them looked up at me automatically as I entered the room, and I had to bite my tongue hard to keep from laughing. In four years of running this program, it had never failed to begin this way.

I wouldn't want it to.

It was only peripherally that I saw their heads turn, since I, of course, kept my own eyes focused straight ahead. It would not be in keeping for me to appear interested in their reactions.

"Come on, man, move it," Emmett grumbled from behind me. I winced at the sound of his knuckles cracking. "I wanna get started."

I couldn't answer him with the girls watching me, not without undermining his authority and breaking the silence with which I preferred to begin these proceedings. So instead I gritted my teeth and walked the rest of the way into the room, eyes on the far door. Mrs. Cope gave me a nervous smile, but the moment she spotted Emmett's bulk fitting itself sideways through the door behind me, her hand fluttered to her heart and she almost tripped on her way out.

This time, when I bit my tongue, I tasted blood. Fuck, everyone seemed to be trying to get me to laugh today. We were _supposed_ to be a team. All the staff, even those who had nothing to do with our…lifestyle…knew the rules. They knew how important first impressions were.

I stopped behind the huge, polished mahogany desk in front, never once looking straight at the women or even indicating that I saw them, and began sorting through the files. I wasn't just doing it to look busy; they would have been photographed upon arrival, and I had to quickly match the names with the faces so I'd know whom I was addressing. As I opened the four folders side by side on the table, I heard Emmett, Jasper, and Felix take their places: Emmett at my left, the other two at my right. Once their feet stilled, there was total silence, which, as I've said, I preferred.

I had studied my own submissive's file, of course, but until now, I'd had no idea what she looked like. In her photo, Tanya appeared to be exactly her stated age, twenty-five, with shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair and a mocking smile. She wasn't unattractive by any means, but I still felt rather disappointed. She wasn't the type I preferred—I liked the ones who were already rather submissive in their basic natures, not the spirited ones that needed taming. That was more Felix's type than mine.

Of course, it was entirely possible I'd misread her. Anyone could be caught by the camera at just the wrong moment, lending her an expression completely contrary to her true nature. We would see soon enough.

I turned to the next file, which was for Mary Alice, Jasper's sub. This time, I had no misgivings about the match; this girl was exactly the type Jasper did so well with. In spite of myself, I looked up at the real Mary Alice, seated with the other three at the long conference table. She was very tiny—according to her profile, not even five feet tall—and I almost laughed again when I saw that her feet didn't even meet the ground and were dangling from her chair. Short, dark hair coaxed into spikes with hair gel. Dark, soulful eyes and plump pink lips just made to wrap around the very tip of his—

I looked down quickly at the next file, trying to banish that thought from my mind. Her checklist, I remembered, had a strict hard limit on sharing. I had no business thinking about her that way. And business or no, I had no _desire_ to think about Jasper that way. Not that we hadn't shared subs or done scenes together before, but that didn't mean I wanted to be having visions of his cock at random moments.

Having already betrayed myself by looking up at Mary Alice, I wrote off my disinterest as a loss and glanced at Jessica as I skimmed her file. She seemed made for Emmett—at the risk of being wrong yet a third time, she had that vacuous air about her that Emmett would just love. And she was certainly voluptuous. Had he been in a vanilla relationship, he would need a strong woman interested in sports or cars. Having decided on this lifestyle, the best thing for him was a stereotypical dumb blonde with huge tits that didn't try to talk too much. Another good match.

That only left Felix's sub, and the moment I opened her file, I knew with one look that I'd have to arrange a switch somehow. There was no way I could give this girl over to Felix, not with the way he handled training. Christ, he'd probably literally fucking _break_ her. Many women clicked with Felix perfectly. Tanya would, I was sure: she appeared robust, healthy, and strong. But not her. Not this girl. When I saw Isabella's photo, the only word that sprang immediately to mind was 'frail.'

I looked up quickly and caught Isabella staring back at me with a curious expression. Our eyes met, and she blushed furiously before ducking her head in chagrin, her soft, wavy hair falling in a curtain around her face.

_Yes. Oh, fuck me, yes._

Keeping the folders open, I began distributing them among the Doms. Jasper's eyes lit up when he saw Mary Alice's photograph and realized which of the women was to be his submissive. But he showed no other sign of interest. To our students, it was imperative that we appear aloof.

Emmett seemed pleased with his choice as well, but then came the problem of dealing with Felix. He didn't know his sub by face, of course, but he noticed the different name as soon as I handed him Tanya's folder, keeping Isabella's for myself. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could completely ruin our image, I hissed, _"Just trust me, please,"_ and the jaws snapped shut again.

He looked down at the photograph and then up at the real thing sitting ten feet away, and I saw the corners of his mouth quirk up. He was pleased. I knew they would be perfect for each other. In fact, the only reason I hadn't assigned them together in the first place was because of Isabella's hard limit on anal sex and sharing, both of which I rather enjoyed. I thought she would, too, if she gave it a chance, but our Doms never so much as _touched_ on the hard limits of the submissives; that was left to the woman's true Master.

But there was plenty I could do to—_with—_her even without that. Having seen that gorgeous dark hair and sad, sweet little face and compared it with Tanya's, I knew there was no way I could spend the next eight weeks with the smug redhead.

Having handed out the three folders, I let Isabella's hang loosely in my hand as I addressed the room in a brusque, cold voice. "I am not standing here to make a welcome speech. You know why you are here. This is not a play party; it is a learning institution. The fee was paid, by you or your Dom, on the understanding that you are here for intensive training in the art of submission, not a spa getaway. Are we clear?" I waited, and was not disappointed to hear three _Yes, sirs_ in response to my question_._ Only Isabella remained silent.

I continued as though I hadn't noticed. "While I will remind you, due to its importance, that safeword use is encouraged whenever you find it necessary, there should be no need to explain our program as though you had not gone through months of interviews, screenings, and briefings to get this far. Naturally, you will have read the handbook and know basically what is expected of you."

"Yes, sir," was repeated again by Tanya, Mary Alice, and Jessica.

I gave them all a sardonic smile. "Yet all four of you have been looking directly at our faces this whole time, and only Isabella knew not to speak to me without express permission." In the full minute of silence that followed, I had to hide a smirk as the women fidgeted nervously under my stare, their own gazes having dropped hurriedly to focus on the table in front of them.

Finally, after letting the tension build until the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, I reached down and opened the top drawer of the desk. Mary Alice and Isabella visibly jumped at the sound of the wood squeaking, and when I extracted the leather paddle and brought it down hard against the desktop, even the men jumped at the resulting _crack!_

"Stand up, all of you," I barked at the women, striding forcefully across the room until I was standing behind Tanya. Isabella and Mary Alice leaped to their feet without hesitation, confirming my instinct that Jasper and I had gotten the more docile, eager to please students that we preferred. Felix and Emmett would be in their element taming the other two. Rarely did the assignments fit so perfectly.

Tanya almost knocked her chair over getting to her feet after I slammed the paddle down on the table right next to her hand. "You were ordered to stand up, Miss Rebane," I hissed. "And you, Miss Stanley," I added, nodding at the chesty blonde. "That will mean two for looking at my face, two for speaking without permission, and two for disobedience."

Tanya stood at attention, her hands hanging at her sides. Yet as I moved so I was standing off to her side, I could see the ghost of a smirk on her face. The proud princess thought this was _funny._ I raised an eyebrow at Felix and could tell he was barely containing his grin. Oh, just wait until the first week was over and he started with his public displays of discipline. That smirk wouldn't be there long.

As was required, the women all wore yoga pants. I had never had a group come through Reception where at least three out of four did not end up bent over the conference table, and it was so much more streamlined a process to bare their asses for punishment when they were sporting elastic waistbands. In a practiced maneuver, I yanked Tanya's pants straight down to her ankles and ordered her to bend across the desk.

Tanya was the tallest among them, and had to bend further than usual to rest her torso on the table. I could see that she was already wet, the soft tuft between her legs glistening in the sunight coming in the window behind us. Felix would want her waxed bare, as would Jasper with Mary Alice. I didn't understand the appeal myself. I expected my subs to be well groomed, but preferred a bit of hair so I actually felt like I was fucking a _woman_, not a five-year-old girl or a dolphin.

Wanting to hurry up and get back to my suite with Isabella, I made short work of reddening Tanya's pale bottom. Six times, the leather paddle cracked down on her backside, leaving behind fiery red stripes to mark her, the disobedient sub. Even though I was certain she got more pleasure than pain out of the experience, her eyes—which, this time, remained downcast—were damp when I ordered her to stand and pull up her pants.

Jessica had six to take as well, and Mary Alice only four. Jessica didn't make a sound, not even when I laid the last stripe across her thighs, but Mary Alice squeaked as the last two landed in the same place. I looked up as she was tearfully adjusting her clothes and saw Jasper staring at her with a hungry longing in his eyes. He had stepped behind the desk, probably to hide what had to be a massive erection at seeing his submissive being paddled right before his eyes.

I was relieved that he was trying to hide his arousal; it was better that Mary Alice—or any of the girls—not understand just yet the power they held over us. That would come later.

Isabella was last, and while she looked a little scared just at first, her expression after I had landed the paddle twice across her tiny, perfect ass was carefully kept blank. I was disappointed, but took comfort in the fact that I would have her in my playroom for two whole months. In those months, I would make her cry countless times. Tears of pain, tears of humiliation, and tears of pure ecstasy and release as I pushed her beyond any limit she might have known even existed and into the realm of total, screaming abandon.

* * *

Isabella followed me silently down the hall, walking several steps behind me as a submissive should. I opened the door and led her into our suite, which was made up of our two bedrooms, the playroom, a dining area, the huge bathroom complete with Jacuzzi, and a rather impressive living room with shelves of books I'd carted upstate in the back of my Forester. Isabella waited uncertainly in the middle of the room as I closed the door and engaged the security settings.

Thus closeted with my submissive, I circled her slowly, reaching out to touch her ass, feel a lock of her hair, tilt her head back to get a better view of her neck. Technically, I could have been interested in how my collar would look once I put it on, but examining Isabella this way, like one might examine a horse for sale, let her know that she was mine, and her body was also mine to do what I wished with. I was pleased when she began to fidget under my scrutiny—pleased that I could rebuke her, as I had in the reception room.

"Stand still," I commanded, a note of warning in my voice. "Unless you want to be spanked again." Isabella straightened immediately, letting her hands dangle awkwardly at her sides, though I saw how reluctant she was to expose herself that way.

I liked her manner. Training this naïve woman-child in the ways of submission would be utterly delicious. Already, my cock was throbbing, wanting to be buried inside her with her hands bound above her head. And I could have done it—ordered her to strip, or ripped off her clothes myself, and dragged her to the bed or table where restraints lay ready for use. I could have done it, and there would have been nothing she could do to stop me short of a safeword, which I hardly thought likely this early in the game. My hands itched to grasp the fabric of her thin t-shirt and tear it from her body.

But that, also, would come later. Other things were more important.

I believe Isabella sensed my indecision; her breathing stilled for a moment until I broke the tension by speaking. "You will take off your clothes and place them in the hamper," I instructed, pointing toward the bathroom. "For the first week, you will not leave this room for any reason short of an emergency evacuation, and I expect you to be nude whenever you are in my presence."

Isabella turned toward the bathroom, but I put up my hand to stop her. "Wait until I am done speaking to you," I snapped, pleased to see her cheeks reddening at the rebuke. I almost would have welcomed an apology so I might punish her for speaking out of turn—the memory of her frail little body bent over the table in Reception made my cock strain maddeningly against my khakis. But Isabella had been trained well in this regard, and she remained silent.

"While you should have read, and should _continue_ to read, the handbook," I continued, "there are certain things that depend on the Dom's preferences, and this is one of them. Another Dom may have wanted you clothed so he might have the pleasure of undressing you, for example. I have left you a robe…" I took a few steps toward the door where a silk robe hung from a brass hook on its back. "…and you may wear it when I am gone if you feel cold, or when you are accepting our meals from the waitstaff.

"Your trainer will not begin to work with you until the second week, but in the meantime I have drawn up a simple exercise and Pilates plan that you will follow. We will use the gym alone every morning from eight until nine, and you may wear whatever is comfortable for you while in the gym. Those are the exceptions."

Then I took Isabella's wrist and led her towards the dining area. "You know what is expected of you in regards to serving me. You will eat after I am finished and have left the room. The exception will be Sundays, when we will share dinner. You will serve me before serving yourself, but once we are seated you may ask me any questions you have. It will be our time to talk over the week: how it went, how the next week will proceed, and your concerns about the training." I paused. "Do you have any questions right now?" Again, Isabella remained silent. She knew that much. "You may speak."

"No, sir," she whispered.

I smiled. "I am pleased that you do not presume to call me 'Master,'" I told her, and was rewarded with a softening of her features. Not an actual smile, but it was clear she was happy at being praised. "Perhaps you are merely being loyal to your _true_ Master…but another submissive might still have addressed me so in a misguided attempt to please me." I waited, hardly thinking she would speak out of turn, then asked, "Will you tell me which it is? You may speak."

Isabella swallowed hard before answering. This would be the first time she had said more than 'Yes, sir' or 'No, sir' to me, and I wondered how her voice would sound. I expected one so lovely to have a lovely voice to match, and though it was barely above a whisper, I was not disappointed.

"I could never call anyone Master but my own, sir," she said, twisting her little hands together. "I was afraid you might find it disrespectful, but I couldn't betray him that way for anyone."

"And that is as it should be." I left it at that, not wanting her too comfortable in my presence. This week would be focused on breaking down her ego, not building it up. "You may undress now."

I didn't tell Isabella not to close the bathroom door, but I didn't need to. She took off her sneakers and lined them up carefully against the wall next to the bathroom, then quickly stripped off her t-shirt, yoga pants, and simple cotton bra and panties, dropping them in the hamper and closing the lid slowly so it didn't bang. She seemed reluctant to make even the slightest bit of noise, and I wondered how much training her Dom had already given her.

I had never actually met the man, but everyone knew James Travies, the name behind hundreds of apartment complexes down in Connecticut and Massachusetts. He wasn't quite so ubiquitous in the BDSM community, but that meant little; many rich men (and women) were far too busy with their day jobs to be attending play parties. That had been the reason for the Academy: to train submissives for men like James.

As with any BDSM activity, no one was ever expected to participate unwillingly. The subs were fully informed of what they would be experiencing while in our program; their signatures were at the bottom of an extensive series of agreements; all applicants were screened very carefully by our staff psychiatrist before being admitted. If James wanted Isabella here, it was also a certainty that Isabella herself wanted to be here.

"Very nice," I said as she emerged, naked, from the bathroom. "Come here to me." She obeyed meekly, padding across the room on her bare feet with her eyes on the carpeting. I picked up an elastic hair tie from the small table next to my favorite chair, moving behind her and gently pulling her hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. I preferred hair to be away from my subs' faces at all times. Later, I would instruct her on how to do a French twist or at least a braid, but this would do for tonight.

Finished, I walked around her again, taking in her whole body: the nipples already pebbling from the cold air against her skin, the gooseflesh cropping up on her arms and legs, the dark patch between her bony hips. Tomorrow, she would be waxed to my specifications. Tomorrow, she would serve me dinner and kneel at my feet as I ate. Tomorrow, I would officially collar her. But for tonight…

"And now, Isabella," I purred, tracing one finger slowly down her arm, feeling the throbbing in my cock start up again even more urgently when I saw her shiver at my touch. "Now, we fuck."


	2. Introduction

At my utterance, Isabella closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Her stomach muscles clenched, and when I dropped my hand and casually slid a finger between her folds, I found she was already wet enough that her inner thighs were slick with moisture. Her body tightened around me, and I withdrew the hand abruptly. "Isabella," I said, shaking my head as if disappointed, though I was anything but. "You are strangely eager to begin our training. I wonder…would you be, if you knew what I had planned for you?"

She opened her eyes and stared past me at the floor, her soft lashes just low enough to prevent me seeing whether those eyes held fear or desire.

"We start slowly tonight," I reminded her, letting the wet knuckles just brush her hip. "You will be collared tomorrow. Tonight will be an…introduction of sorts."

Without further commentary, I closed my hand firmly around Isabella's scrawny wrist, leading her into my bedroom and over to my bed, which the housekeeper had made up that morning with forest-green 1200-thread count sheets and a matching cotton bedspread. Only about one fourth of our clients' fees went towards the salary of the trainers and staff—the rest was spent on overhead and general maintenance, but also luxuries like these.

Perhaps this was not a spa getaway, as I had so emphatically reminded the students at Reception, but our facilities were just as well equipped. All the women's needs would be well taken care of. And we didn't see any reason why the school had to be ugly, either.

The school actually wasn't anything more institutional than an 1890 colonial home which originally held five large bedrooms, but had easily been renovated until the second floor was split into four practically identical suites—the bedrooms of which were cursorily soundproofed, the playrooms heavily so. Yes, the doors to the hallway were secured, but that was more to keep people _out_ than _in._ Who can put their whole self into a scene if they're worried about someone barging in at any moment? The 2¾-inch-thick soundproofed doors already came equipped with keypad entry systems, in any case.

Downstairs were the kitchen, dining hall, reception room, office, and bedroom suites for Dr. Cullen, our staff psychiatrist, and Kate and Liam, our housekeeper and cook. Mrs. Cope handled the receptionist duties, but she lived just three miles away with her retired husband and never spent the night here. During the school year, she worked in the main office over at the high school, but like me, her summers were free.

I slid open the drawer of my nightstand and lifted a dark blue silk blindfold from within. I closed the drawer and stepped back so that I stood behind Isabella. "This is another of my especial proclivities, Isabella," I said as I fastened the cloth securely around her head. "As you may already know, where one sense is impaired, the rest are enhanced in order to compensate." I gave the knot a tug and turned her gently to face me, and it was amazing what it did to my cock to see how willingly she moved in response to my manipulations. It was like having clay, wet clay, to ply and mold as I wished.

And 'clay' was exactly how my hands would treat her most sensitive area.

"Your checklist had very few handwritten comments," I remarked, wondering if she could feel my gaze boring into her forehead. "But you specifically indicated that you enjoy being slapped across the mouth. Not the face—not the cheek—but the mouth. Tell me why that is."

Isabella hesitated, and I saw her dilemma. "When I specifically say for you to tell me something, or to answer me, you may take that as your permission to speak."

"I, um…I don't really know why it is," Isabella hedged, starting to twist her hands again. Obviously this was a common nervous habit of hers. And being unable to see had to be making her even more nervous than usual. "I just know that it takes me right out of things if my face is slapped." She took a deep breath. "But, well, on the mouth it's different. I still feel horrible for disappointing my Master, but it…tingles. It's…I know he's disappointed, and that hurts, but it keeps me wanting more."

_Fuck, yes._ "Then I imagine that will be an ideal punishment for when you speak out of turn, or disrespectfully towards me," I said decisively. "A quick slap on the mouth will remind you of your place, without our having to break our routine and spend too much time on harsher measures."

Isabella didn't answer, of course. And I didn't ask her to. I had already given her opinion too much weight in the matter. Punishments were for me, her Dom, to decide. "It stands to reason, Isabella. The lips are an erogenous zone. Why do you imagine kissing is so stimulating?" Leaving my rhetorical question hanging, I switched topics abruptly. "Did you enjoy being paddled in the reception room?" I asked her. "Answer me."

"I…I didn't like that I had made you angry with me," she answered hesitantly.

"I wasn't angry then, Isabella," I said, immediately wanting to kick myself for my reassuring tone. For some reason, I needed the collaring as much as the subs did, or I sometimes slipped out of my role. "You are here to train as a submissive. I don't expect that you will never make mistakes. But that does not mean you will be excused from consequences."

Isabella shook her head mutely.

"But you have not answered my question. Did you enjoy being spanked? I will not ask you again."

"Yes, sir," she said in a whisper, ducking her head shamefully even though she couldn't very well see my face.

"Tell me something," I asked, "and don't you dare lie to me." I saw the stomach muscles tense again. "I find all forms of discipline to be very erotic. But how are you to be punished at other times if you take pleasure in them?"

Her mouth opened, but closed just as quickly. Then she must have remembered that _Tell me_ was the equivalent of a command, because she did finally speak. "It still hurts very much, sir. And it isn't all pleasurable, especially with the cane or the strap. I _do_ enjoy it in a way, but it's very painful. I'll never bait you just to get a spanking, sir. I swear."

I smiled, even though I knew she couldn't see it. Perhaps she could hear it in my voice. By the end of our time together, Isabella's senses would have developed to the point where she could determine my mood even without my speaking. "Now, let's not promise away all our fun, Isabella."

Whatever her reaction may have been, I didn't notice, since I was busy pulling back the sheets and bunching them up at the foot of the bed. "Undress me," I ordered. "You can easily do that by touch."

Hesitantly, she reached for me, her little fingers scrabbling a bit as they knocked against my ribs. She ran them down my stomach, finding the hem of my t-shirt and lifting it up towards my shoulders. When she got high enough, I raised my arms to make it a bit easier, and she ran her hand around to my back to pull the shirt up and over that way.

Isabella stood holding my t-shirt in both hands, obviously unsure of what to do. "Drape it across the footboard," I said. She put out one arm in front of her and stepped toward the foot of the bed; when she found the curved footboard of the sleigh bed by touch, she laid my shirt over the edge, pushing it in a bit so it wouldn't slide off the end.

Isabella had an easier time unzipping my jeans—I was the one who had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming when the zipper had to be dragged over my erection, my boxer briefs thick enough to protect my skin but thin enough to make the sensation almost maddening.

Having folded my jeans in half and laid them over my shirt on the footboard, Isabella returned to her place in front of me and slipped her fingers inside the waistband of the shorts. I don't imagine she meant to do it, but she didn't know enough to pull them out a bit first to fit over my hardness, and so not only did the elastic scrape my entire length, this time eliciting a groan despite my efforts to stop it, but since she had to bend to get the shorts down, my cock ended up springing up and striking her face once it was freed of its attire.

Isabella startled, but she only hesitated for a second before bending her knees the rest of the way to bring the shorts down to my ankles. I stepped out, she stood up and placed them on top of my jeans…and we were ready to fuck.

"Lie down," I said. "Next to the pillows, flat against the sheets." I didn't tell her to spread her legs, nor what to do with her hands. I would take care of that myself.

Isabella could have crawled onto the bed on all fours, offering me a tantalizing view of her ass, but apparently she was a very self-conscious woman. We would have to work on that, but I didn't feel like making a point of it tonight. I watched as she backed carefully up against the mattress, sat down as though on a chair, then reached behind her to brace her hands and pulled herself backwards until her legs weren't hanging off the bed anymore. She lay back, parallel to the pillows as I'd instructed, and rested her hands against her lower belly.

I was taller than she was, and it only took putting one knee down and pushing my weight off it to get me to where I was straddling her supine figure. Isabella's body tensed when she felt my warmth next to her, and she instinctively pulled her arms and legs closer together. I was having none of that. I pulled her right leg away a bit and then climbed over it so I was kneeling between her legs, then pushed her thighs apart so she lay spread before me.

"While I fuck you, Isabella, you will remain as quiet as possible. You are not to speak, and keep the noise to a minimum. The exceptions, as always, are your safewords. And if I _ever_, not just tonight, ask you specifically if you need to safeword, you will answer without hesitation. Tell me you understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you need to safeword?" It was highly unlikely, but no harm in asking.

"No, sir." No, indeed. Her voice, suddenly high and breathy, told me that she wanted me inside her, probably just as much as I wanted to be there. "So we are clear, what are you to say to me if I ask and you wish to continue?"

"Veni," she answered.

"If you are frightened and want to slow down?"

"Vidi."

"And to stop the game entirely until you have collected yourself?"

"Vici."

"You please me, Isabella." Was it my imagination, or did her thighs squeeze inward at my praise? I slid my hand between them and brushed my fingers against her; she whimpered at the unexpected touch. Yes, she was certainly very wet, even now.

I reached over to the nightstand and snapped off the light; before going down to Reception, I had lit a taper candle and placed it next to my clock, and now the room glowed faintly with the light of that single flame. I was able to see Isabella, though not very clearly, but enough for what I had in mind.

Once again, I slid my hand between her thighs, but this time I began to move my fingers in and out of her, my thumb pushing down against her clit and dragging up the short length before starting again from the bottom. Isabella clutched at the sheets next to her hips, breathing heavily but not daring to make another sound just yet.

I could have shifted closer to her and let my fingers go in deeper, but I liked it just fine this way: I knew the length I was allowing her would be enough to tantalize, but would leave her desperate for more with each thrust. For the same reason, I sometimes held back from grinding my thumb against her clit, instead passing over it with barely enough pressure to tickle her silky hair, or giving the little nub a quick tap before going back to the feather-light brushes.

My eyes were adjusted to the dark by now, and I could see that Isabella's nipples were raised and hard. Taking my weight off my other hand and settling against my heels, I reached out and gave each of them a light tap, which made her betray herself with another moan. Pulling my right hand out from between her legs, I leaned forward and held my palms flat just above both of those pebbly mounds. Her back arched as she tried to reach my hands, but fell back when I told her sharply, "Be still."

Her nipples received the same treatment as her clit, with me brushing my thumbs against them for several minutes with varying degrees of pressure. Isabella's body was trembling like a leaf by the time I pulled my hands away, and the way she was breathing through her nose told me she had to be clenching her teeth to keep from moaning.

One last time, I tested her with my fingers. She was ready. _I_ was, certainly; my cock, at that point, was so hard that I hissed when I had to grip it in order to maneuver it into her. And when I felt her warm wet closing around the very tip of me, I found I had to breathe through clenched teeth myself.

I could have been gentler, but she was _so_ wet that I doubted she'd feel any pain. So rather than enter her slowly, I thrust all of myself into her at once. This time, when she cried out, I didn't rebuke her, though I gave her mouth a gentle tap to remind her to keep herself in check…that, and knowing it would also give her a tantalizing bit of pleasure.

I drew back slightly, and Isabella's hands came up to grasp my hips. Then I had to speak, because she would feel much more vulnerable with her arms at her sides. "Hands down, Isabella. You have already been warned once for moving. Do it again, and I'll have to get the paddle."

Isabella's walls clenched around me so hard that I bit my tongue in my shock. Well, fucking wonderful; the idea of being paddled turned her on. Despite her promise not to, would she bait me to punish her?

Apparently not. Maybe Isabella did find being paddled to be erotic, but it also could have been the sound of my voice, firm and commanding, that stimulated her. Either way, her hands fell to her sides, and she didn't try to move after that. I quickly fell into a rhythm, slower than normal so I wouldn't accidentally shoot off too soon, but hard enough at each thrust that Isabella's breasts bounced under my palms and her hands were yanking at fistfuls of sheet for dear life.

I could tell she was about to come from the way she suddenly went too quiet and dug her fingers deep into the mattress. Her breathing had become a series of shallow animal pants as I drove her closer to orgasm. The candlelight flickered across her bouncing breasts, the nipples like pencil erasers when I pinched them hard between my thumb and forefinger. Isabella's soft little moan let me know that she was mere seconds away from release. One final time, I thrust into her…and then abruptly pulled out, my still-hard cock springing back up almost to my stomach, slick and wet with her juices.

"No!" Isabella cried out as she felt me leave her, and the pale hands flew up to fumble with her blindfold. Expecting such a reaction, I took hold of both her wrists and pinned them together in my left hand, then slapped her forcefully across the mouth with my right. "I didn't ask you to speak," I hissed.

Isabella, whose body had stilled when she felt my hands on her wrists, opened her mouth as though to answer, but I cut her off impatiently. "If I hear so much as one word out of you, I'll slap that mouth into the middle of next week. Is that understood?" I waited through five seconds of silence before continuing. "Good. Now…" I heaved myself off her, sitting back on my heels against the pillows with my painful erection straining for the ceiling. "Get a towel from the warmer in the bathroom and finish me by hand. You may take off your blindfold."

Isabella obeyed, pushing the blindfold over the top of her head before sliding off the bed. I snapped on the bedside lamp and looked carefully at her face, expecting to see frustration there, even anger…but strangely, Isabella only looked very sad, as though she might start crying at any moment. I hoped she wouldn't.

Fuck, what was the matter with her? She wasn't supposed to break this fast. This whole coming week was geared towards removing her pride and instilling humility in its place. A person could certainly remain very strong, even controlling, in his or her "other" life and still make a good submissive…but that pride had to be conquered in order to do so. Isabella should know this. Carlisle had interviewed her during selection and pronounced her mentally healthy enough to withstand our program. He was a brilliant doctor with decades of experience. Could he have been wrong?

But when Isabella came back from the bathroom with a warm, folded towel in her hands, her face was blank again. She climbed back up on the bed and started to reach for me before stopping with her hand almost to my throbbing cock, obviously unclear whether she ought to proceed.

"Put the blindfold back on. Then wrap the towel around me and bring me to orgasm."

I would really have preferred to be inside her again, and I cursed the training that deprived not only Isabella, but me also, of real satisfaction. Still, the towel was soft terry, and so warm, and Isabella's hands were surprisingly strong for someone who appeared so frail otherwise. Before long, I was fighting against my urges to moan, to speak, to tell her that _yes,_ that was what I needed…but I choked the words back, and my few noises of pleasure were carefully controlled.

"Twist your hand on the way up," I ordered her, my voice impassive. Isabella complied, wrenching my shaft until it burned from the scraping of fabric against skin. My head went back; I was thankful that she couldn't see my reaction. _Oh, fuck, yes…YES…_

After a while, my head came back up and I stared at Isabella, at her thin, naked body sitting back on her heels before me with the hair between her legs wet and plastered against her skin. I knew she must desperately want for me to finish her, yet she was serving me instead. That, and the memory of her being paddled, were too much for my brain to handle, and I came hard into the towel.

Isabella stopped when she felt the sudden release against her hands, but she held me firmly until I was spent, keeping her body perfectly still as she listened to me gasping and panting.

I lay back against the pillows once I had calmed, speaking to her in a monotone with my eyes closed. "Clean up and go to bed. You may not pleasure yourself. Not tonight, and not ever—not without my express permission. Your orgasms are mine to control. Tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir," she said, her voice trembling. Whether that were from desire or unshed tears, I didn't know. But fuck if it didn't almost make my spent member start to get hard again.

When Isabella had retreated to the bathroom, I got up and slipped my briefs back on, then rolled back onto the messy bed. I groaned as I landed on the towel soaked in my jizz. I should have had Isabella bring it to the hamper on her way to bed.

The bathroom light was shining from the crack under the door, and I heard water running inside. I waited until the water stopped, the light vanished, and until I heard the door to Isabella's room shut. I counted off five minutes, giving her time to get settled into bed, then rolled back over and stood up.

I took my time flossing and brushing my teeth and using the toilet. Finally, when I had nothing left to keep me in the bathroom, I opened Isabella's door without knocking first and snapped on the light. Isabella had been facing away from me, curled up in a fetal position under her covers, but she rolled onto her back when the light went on. She glanced up at my face for a split second before dropping her eyes to what was probably my knee level.

"Get up," I ordered her, enjoying the way she scrambled to obey without hesitation. "Come with me."

Back in my bedroom, I pointed to the towel that lay in the center of my bed. "Bring this to the hamper. Then you may go to sleep. You know what I expect of you in the morning."

Isabella obeyed me meekly, taking the towel and straightening out the sheet under it. Her hair was loose now, and it fell like a lush mahogany waterfall around her face as she leaned over my bed. I watched her as she disappeared back into the bathroom, then reappeared in her lighted doorway and entered her own bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

I knew Isabella had had enough for tonight, but damn if I could make my cock understand that. It had been almost a year since I had a submissive to train, and I had forgotten how fucking _hot_ it was to have a woman give me the gift of her submission. Every timid little mannerism of hers made me want to throw her down and fuck her senseless. Isabella may have been untrained, but she was obviously willing to learn and so eager to please.

And I? I was willing to teach.


	3. Collaring

I awoke to the gentle chiming of my special-order Zen alarm clock. It had a digital display and a timer feature, one that Isabella would likely grow to fear the sound of before very long. But instead of jarring one awake with the sounds of rock music or shrill, discordant electronic babel, the alarm activated a series of chime sequences that were supposed to allow one to surface gradually from slumber, greeting the day with serenity rather than a pounding heart and the desire to silence the offending noise with a sledgehammer.

I actually found it rather annoying, but after dropping over a hundred dollars on the thing, I figured I'd better just deal.

I rolled over in bed lazily, enjoying the feel of the luxuriously soft sheets against my bare torso. My furnishings at home were more Spartan and utilitarian, since I had only myself to please and cared more about books than decorative frills. Perhaps, once the summer session ended and I returned home, I would invest in better sheets. They didn't cost so very much for the incredible comfort they offered.

I opened one eye and tensed when I realized that Isabella's head was only about two feet away from mine. It was a rule that she be kneeling beside my bed, naked, when my alarm went off every morning, but that didn't mean that I didn't nearly jump out of my skin, this first time, to see her actually doing it.

Isabella's head was bowed, so while she knew I had turned over, I could possibly still be asleep. The chimes started up again, this time slightly louder and a few more in number. Before long, they would all run together until an hour had passed…or stop altogether if I turned the switch off. Which I did, reaching behind Isabella's head to do so.

Leaning on my elbow, I took a moment to study her after the chimes faded to echoes and, finally, silence. Isabella's hair was gathered back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, just as I had arranged it for her last night. I had not yet instructed her on my preferences for personal grooming, and I was pleased that she was obviously storing whatever scattered information she could glean about my likes and dislikes and attempting to do what would please me.

I almost reached out to touch the top of her head, as her hair looked so soft and inviting this way…but I stopped myself. I had to stop treating her as though she were a pet. I was gentler than many Doms, such as Felix, but I knew better than to confuse Isabella with conflicting signals. It wouldn't be fair to her to be tender and then expect her to understand coldness and sternness at other times. Not until she was settled into our routine and knew me better, at least.

I rolled myself off the bed in one fluid movement and strode for the bathroom. "Make my bed, Isabella," I ordered without even looking back. We had a cleaning staff, but the first week they usually stuck to the main areas. Part of our training involved having the subs do things they might not even dream of in their "other" lives. Some had more trouble with this than others, but by the end of the week, even the most haughty and pampered of women had usually shed the worst of their false pride.

While I was in the bathroom, the door buzzed. That would be Liam with our food. I peeked into the bedroom and saw Isabella standing with one of my pillows in her hand, glancing back and forth between the living room and my face. "I'll get it this time," I said, taking the toothbrush out of my mouth and speaking through a mouthful of paste, "but after the first week, you'll put on that robe and answer the door yourself. Unless I decide to punish you by making you answer it naked." She blushed and looked down, and I smirked when I thought about what we would be doing today, and what her reaction would be to it.

But first, breakfast.

* * *

Isabella didn't need to be told what to do; deftly, she lay my plate down in front of me and lifted the silver lid, then with the edge of a spare fork she nudged the omelette and bacon into neater positions. She added a glass bowl of kiwi, berries, and starfruit and slid two potato pancakes onto my plate beside the bacon. A tall glass of orange juice completed my breakfast, and Isabella settled onto her knees on the mat a few feet away from my chair.

"Thank you, Isabella." Maybe I shouldn't keep thanking her for things that she was expected to do. I've struggled with whether or not to respond for as long as I've been training subs. Most Doms I ask scoff at the idea; Felix, as far as I know, never thanks _anyone_ for _anything._ But the habit is ingrained in me; my mother never let me have anything that I hadn't said thank you for. I'd asked Carlisle about it once, but like a good headshrinker, he just talked me in circles until I forgot why I even cared. And the habit continued.

As I ate my delicious breakfast, I went over my plans for the day in my head. Isabella had to eat, of course. Normally we would use the gym right after breakfast, but I decided to wait until after she'd been waxed. I had a feeling that the friction of exercise coupled with freshly waxed skin would put Isabella in a more sensuous frame of mind. I would put the wax on to heat while she was eating, and later…I would show Isabella that even something as tiresome as waxing can be an erotic experience.

"You may eat," I said after I'd drained the last drop of juice, standing up and leaving my dishes for her to clear. She rose slowly, and I frowned when I saw that her right leg wasn't holding her weight properly, making her limp the few steps to the table. I had thought the mat would be enough to cushion her from the hard floor. She hadn't been there long enough for it to fall asleep like that, had she?

"Take these with your food," I ordered, indicating a small silver tray next to her plate that held four Advil, two zinc tablets, and a bottle of mineral water. I caught myself before I told her that the Advil would help with the pain of being waxed, giving her a slight buzz that, coupled with her own proclivities regarding pain, would make her much more likely to find it a titillating, if not entirely pleasurable, experience. The zinc purportedly helped with bruising, and it would become part of her health regimen starting now. She didn't need to know that. It was enough that I had told her to take the pills. She needed to learn to do what she was told without knowing or asking why.

I caught myself, I say, because once again I found my instinct was to treat Isabella like a girlfriend, not my sub…at least in my mind. I never found it terribly hard to get back into the Dom mindset come summer, particularly if I'd been lucky enough to have my own sub at home just recently, but even those women _were_ girlfriends. Although I occasionally had one-night stands or did scenes with a submissive that I had no, or only vague, intentions of pursuing a relationship with, I did not treat my steady subs like call girls. And as such, I was now treating Isabella the way I would treat a girlfriend who had shed my collar after our playtime.

The collar was the thing. I was going to keep having this problem until I collared her. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Isabella ate while I dressed in my sweats and a white t-shirt, comfortable and yet new and crisp enough that I didn't look like a slob. And, if I accidentally got wax on myself later, easy to wash. When I came back into the dining area, Isabella had finished her meal, neatly stacked the dishes on the rolling tray, and left it near the door. She was standing in the middle of the room now with her hands behind her back, waiting. I looked at her after noticing the tray, and I caught her nervous glance at my face before she dropped her eyes back to the floor.

"Very good, Isabella." She relaxed visibly. "I would pre…that is, you are to leave the cart just outside the door from now on, against the wall, so that we aren't interrupted when they come to collect it." One of my former students, during our exit interview, had confided in me that she found even this small task to be intensely exciting. Somehow, just the possibility of being seen naked in the brief time it took to push the cart out, and the danger of the door closing too quickly and locking automatically, leaving her exposed in the hallway, left her giddy with tension that made her that much more eager for our play.

Isabella scurried to obey me, and the sight of her tight little ass and those perfect breasts dangling as she leaned out into the hallway while trying not to cross the threshold was fucking _amazing_. Isabella was a beautiful creature, if a bit bony for my tastes. She looked as though she never ate quite enough, and it almost ruined what could have been the perfect body otherwise. I would have to make sure she ate well at each meal.

Isabella returned to her waiting position in the center of the room, and I thanked her for obeying me so quickly. "Today, Isabella, I am going to explain to you how I wish you to groom yourself. Come with me into the bathroom, and I will fix your hair the way I like it."

* * *

Isabella sat on the white terry-padded bench in front of the small vanity table, keeping her eyes trained on her reflection, though never meeting my gaze, as I explained how I was styling her hair into a tight French twist. "I don't wish to be bothered by hair during play, Isabella. But I know that these hairpins can be painful to the point of distraction from…other sensations…and I expect you to find the balance between hurting yourself and keeping your hair from interfering." Finished, I showed her the little drawer where the pins were kept, as well as several types of combs. "When you are alone, you may experiment with these. All I ask is that you keep it neat and attractive."

Closing the drawer again, I motioned Isabella to follow me back into the bedroom. I'd lain out her collar on the top of my dresser while she was eating, and now I picked it up and ordered her to kneel in front of me. Unlike with the vitamins, this time I was prepared to explain the reasoning behind the ritual. Some little part of me was even anxious to do so, since I needed her to trust me, and during her interviews she might have been told that collars were optional here.

Now that Isabella was on her knees, I started thinking I'd gone about this wrong. I should have collared her the night before. I'd been ordering her around since then, and now I was going to ask her to speak up if she needed to. But I also thought it was better for her to see me, the Dom me, first before agreeing—or not—to be collared. Shit, I hated it when I wasn't sure if I'd made the right decision with a student.

"I'm about to explain to you why we collar here—why _I_ collar, at least, because it isn't actually a set school policy. It's a big step, so I want you to speak to me freely until the collar goes on if…if you need me to clarify something. Do you understand?" She hesitated. Well, that was expected, wasn't it? I'd punished her before for speaking out of turn, and threatened her with worse. "You don't have to get my permission if you need to say something while we're talking about this."

This was just too many shades of fucked up. When I made my notes tonight, I'd have to add _Note to self:_ _Collar first._ Or was it just Isabella? Irina hadn't had a problem speaking her mind when I followed this format last year. Tanya wouldn't have, of that I was certain. I wondered how she was coping with Felix.

"Okay," Isabella finally whispered. "Sir." I snapped out of my reverie and took a deep breath.

"Good. Well, collaring, in this place, is a different situation than it would be outside these walls," I told her. "Your Master has undoubtedly collared you for himself, though you have followed our instructions and not brought it with you. You view your collar as a symbol of your submission, and when it's not on, you find it easier to slip out of character, am I right?"

Isabella did answer me, though there was a split second of hesitation first. "Yes, sir." Well, she might still be nervous about speaking, or maybe she wore her Master's collar always. I might ask her about it when we had our discussion on Sunday, but now was not the time. "When you wear my collar, it is so that _neither_ of us will slip. I will take it off on occasion if you safeword or if I feel we need to talk about your progress, and then it'll come off all day on Sundays. I still expect you to be respectful, but your training will be practically useless if we can't talk honestly every so often.

"Your Master gave you his collar to remind you that you belong to him, and him alone," I continued. "Here, however, the collar does not signify a relationship between us. You are not being disloyal to your Master by wearing one. It binds you to the school, not to a Dom, and the reason for it is that the program isn't meant for us to develop an emotional relationship, nor will it last long enough to do so. The collar will help you remember your place, and its removal will leave you free to speak your mind.

"You pledged your submission when you signed on here. When you wear this collar, that pledge binds you to me," I finished. Isabella said nothing, but she was nervously rubbing her knuckles against the carpeting. "I want to hear what you think. You can refuse to wear the collar, you know. I just wanted you to understand why I feel it's necessary."

She wouldn't look at me, and it got really quiet for a time, but she did finally speak, even though her voice was small and hesitant. "You won't tell him if I wear it?"

_What?_ "Tell your Dom, you mean?" She nodded mutely. "Isabella, this is your show here. We don't send report cards home. It's up to you to tell your Dom whatever you wish him to know. If you don't think he'd like you wearing a school collar, why not just say no?" _More importantly, why are you his sub if you don't trust him?_

"I want to," she said hastily. "I understand why you want it, and I agree, but I….He'd probably be mad, but I don't want to mess this up and forget about wearing a collar, but he's paying for it, so I don't—"

"It doesn't matter who's _paying_, Isabella," I interrupted impatiently, cutting off her nervous rambling. "You aren't here to be molded for this one Dom of yours." _Although that's probably exactly how he views it, a too-rich-for-his-own-good bastard like that._ "You are learning the sub lifestyle because that's what you've indicated you want sexually, and because the Dom you've chosen doesn't know how to train a sub. If you and he ever part ways, this training doesn't go away. So what's important is that you do what makes you feel like you're getting the most out of the course."

She didn't answer me right away, so I added, "You can think about it for a few moments. If you wish, we can even postpone this until tomorrow to give you time to consider things. Like I said, it's only so we remember our roles, but that doesn't mean it isn't still a big step emotionally." I waited, wondering if I should just move us along to her waxing. She might want to take me up on the overnight suggestion, and standing over her wasn't going to make it easier for her to speak up about it. I could settle onto the bed to wait her out, but if she wanted more time, even that might seem pushy.

It was an awkward couple of minutes while I tried to decide what to do, but then Isabella spoke. "I want to wear it if that's all it means. I understand about it reminding us when it's time to train and when it's time to talk."

"I appreciate your honesty," I answered, relieved that the decision was made. "And your understanding."

I unhooked the lobster-claw clasp and chose my next words carefully. With my first sub, we'd gone through a ritual that felt a lot like taking marriage vows, with me pledging to take care of her and consider her well-being at all times, and her own pledge of sweet submission to me, and me alone. But with students, it was a bit different. We weren't committing to a long-term relationship; it was more like an employment agreement, though not exactly. But that was the metaphor I decided to share with her.

"When you wear this collar, you are agreeing to accept my training of you and follow my orders without question. I, in turn, am agreeing to give you the best training possible and keep you safe and healthy. Both of us agree to keep it safe, sane, and consensual. You may safeword at any time, and I must, and will, honor those safewords. Do you agree to this, Isabella?"

"I do, sir," she answered, her eyes on my face this time, not the floor. I couldn't understand the look she was giving me. She appeared…grateful. For what? Maybe she didn't expect to have things explained for her. I wondered again about this James of hers; did he have any regard whatsoever for her feelings, or did he just expect to have a robotic sex slave at his beck and call?

"If you have anything else to say, say it now," I said. "Once the collar goes on, we can't talk freely like this until it comes off again."

Isabella shook her head and looked down at the carpeting. Her head remained bent as I fastened the heavy gold chain around her neck. It was a simple herringbone chain about three-quarters of an inch wide, with a satin finish on the facing side. It was subtle as collars go, hardly spikes and leather, but heavy enough that Isabella couldn't forget she was wearing it. "Then until and unless you safeword, I expect your full and complete obedience. You may stand." She obeyed, and the chain glittered in the early morning sunlight that spilled across the room and reflected back from the mirror above the dresser.

In that moment, she was so lovely—silky wisps of hair that I hadn't pinned back lay against her neck, as delicate and thin as the swan she was named for. She wore no makeup—I wouldn't have allowed it in any case, except perhaps a bit at our formal weekly dinners with the rest of the school, but she hadn't worn any even at registration. I wondered if she even had any with her. Truly, she didn't need it, and I had a feeling that it would ruin her lovely face, making it seem artificial and contrived, like a little girl playing dress-up. She was purely beautiful.

And, for the next six weeks, mine.

TBC...

Thanks for still reading! I took an unexpected detour when I thought I'd have a regular schedule (I hate when my favorites don't update!) First I broke my flashdrive with all I'd written so far on it, and I was screamingly upset because I know I'll never be able to put it back together the same way. Then I broke my arm so I couldn't write for weeks. I'm in PT now, but it's still really painful to type too much. I have a lot of the next chapter pieced together, but if it takes awhile you'll know it's because of that. Hugs for my readers!


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